The warm embers of sunrise were what stirred Juniper from her deep, plentiful slumber. Malachite eyes fluttered open, squinting against the fragments of amber light that palmed their way through the thick folds of lush curtains. Juniper’s bedroom was the only occupied room in the Corinthia Manor House. A relic of a building, the shell of which had stood for centuries, reinforced and repurposed to strengthen old foundations. It was once an aristocratic household, full of wealth and brimming with privilege. Then, a beloved, bewitched Hawthorne Scullery Maid had inherited the property from a childless bachelor in the Victorian era. It had remained in the family ever since.

This house ached for company. The wasted potential of 10 bedrooms spread over 4 floors; Vacant bed frames and deserted wardrobes cried out to be filled. This was not a building destined for a sole occupant. It was a small tragedy that for now, Juniper Hawthorne was the rightful owner and only inhabitant of the grand manor. But it would not remain this way for much longer. Juniper had spent the months since her family left Corinthia Manor spreading the word that the Coven was searching for Initiates. Hours had been spent planting seeds of hope amongst the South London Witching Community, hoping the whisperings of Resurgence would reach the right Witches. It was no easy feat passing messages to recipients unknown. How could she possibly recruit Witches she’d never met? Especially when The Elder way still gripped the minds of so many Witches. The newly revised Corinthia Coven was already a topic of controversy amongst the community. June’s family had seen to the Corinthia name being muddied on their way out. Brainwashed. Blindly loyal. Corrupted. The Hawthorne Witches, despite all their power, were so beneath the thumb of the Elder’s that they’d rather abandon Juniper at the manor than stand by and watch her rebuild. Now at the helm, drinking down the pressure of Leadership in gulps, Earth Witch Juniper Hawthorne became the Head of the Corinthia Coven by default. The Elders dubbed these Witches High Priestesses but Juniper preferred the term High Sorceress. Priestesses were puppets for the Elders. Corinthia Sorceresses dreamt of tearing them down.

She rose from bed, pulling her sheets neatly before standing at the French windows to bask in the glory of sunrise. Earth Witches centred themselves around the sun, the moon and the Earth. There was little June revelled in more than sharing a Sunrise Prayer. The curtains hissed in protest as Juniper threw them back, flooding her bedroom with glorious sunlight. She breathed in deeply through her nose, nostrils whistling. Rays of morning sun kissed her cheeks, warming her slow smile. The sunrise smelt like promise and last night’s incense. A mix of oud-laced musk and morning dew. The Witch keenly clicked the window open despite the cool air that immediately barrelled its way through the gap. Chilling her skin, Juniper embraced the winter elements, smile still lingering on her sleep-riddled face.

The underground messaging service was about playing the long game. Juniper had laid so much groundwork; Whispering in the ears of fellow Witches, passing notes to messengers and hosting Seances with the Spirit World in the hope that the wildfire of rebellion would reach the ears of willing Witches out there. She’d wished she could scream it from the rooftops, adorn a T-Shirt that said “Join the Corinthia Resurgence!” and set up a Facebook group but not only were humans still totally unaware of Witchhood’s existence but The Elders would be quick to stamp out the sparks of anarchy. Until Juniper’s new Coveners arrived, she was on her own. Alone in this mission. Alone in this house. Alone since her family had fled into the arms of the Elders.

A whip of cool air cracked across Juniper’s silk pyjamas, the naked treetops groaning with the push and pull of the winds. The breeze and branches danced with one another, twisting and twirling on that Winter morning. The Earth Witch placed both palms on the windowsill and leant forward, leaning into the cold embrace of Mother Earth.

“Mother, I greet you. Grant me the strength to welcome my brothers and sisters today. Mother, I meet you. May I channel your wisdom to those seeking out Corinthia. Mother, I speak you. Gift me the words to keep us guided in Earth’s name…”

The words fell from Juniper’s lips, spoken in barely a whisper, yet laced with power. The familiar feeling of energy awakening within her coursed through her veins. Like a spark, her Magic burst into life, filling her bloodstream and invigorating her like a match to a flame. Her eyes shone a bright green, pupils melting into that signature fluorescent glow of power. Palms tingling against the wood of the window pane, Mother Earth breathed into her and she heard the layered whispers of the Wild, calling to her. Aislinn, the Raven who she’d been gifted as her Familiar, could be seen gliding over the distant rooftops. Her midnight black wings so at contrast with the red sky, June extended a hand so the bird could take her perch atop her fingertips. The sound of feathered fluttering wings filled her ears as the Raven clamped her claws around June’s fingers and shifted into position.

“They’re on their way, Juniper” Aislinn’s voice spoke sharp and clear in the Earth Witch’s mind. The bird’s pinprick black eyes stared back at her, wings ruffling as the pair shared a conversation only they would ever be privy to. “They travel from far and wide. But they heard your call. They know today is when Corinthia’s doors will open. You’ve done it.”

Juniper let Aislinn’s words of congratulations resonate in every bone. The undressed trees framing Corinthia’s gardens rattled, the sound of creaking branches like an applause from Mother Earth. In a matter of hours, Corinthia Manor would have the life of Witches breathed back into it. No longer would the bedrooms be sat empty, begging for occupation. The new Corinthia Coven would be born today and Juniper would be here, as she had been for many months, awaiting the company of Witches sharing her mission for change. Together, they’d grow. Together, they’d fight the oppression of the Elder Way. They would no longer be ushered into the shadows. Instead, they’d stand together as Brothers and Sisters, orchestrating the unravelling of Ancient Rules enforced by Witches who wished to silence unharnessed power. Aislinn cawed in approval, her beak snapping open and shut in agreement and tail twitching in mutual anticipation.

“Well, Aislinn… Let’s turn this house into a home, shall we?”

The shadows ran deep in the station this time of year. Gregori hardly noticed. He ambled along with his pack, in a haze. He looked unkempt, tired. His thoughts were overcome by the urge he had been following since Prague. It was stronger now, he had expected that. He didn't know where he was going, but he was overcome with the compulsion. The idea of going to this place was like a north star in his mind. At one point in his journey, around Spain, he had considered stopping. After three luxurious days he could know longer resist the urge. It must be the pull of fate, why stop it? His mother had taught him to trust his intuition. So if he must walk to the ends of the earth to satiate his urge, he will.

He doesn't know where he is going. But he knows it isn't far now. He is buzzing with anticipation, what little energy he can spare. It's probably most of what is keeping him on his feet as he navigates the early morning sprawl of London. He doesn't navigate, he just follows his feet. He keeps walking, for a while. The sun is rising. He doesn't know what time it is, he barely noticed the urban sprawl fall away into sleepy residential backstreets. He finds himself on a street with more empty plots on it than most; the pavement is chipped and dated. There is no activity.

He imagined a buzzing, somewhere in his head. Maybe his jaw. The anticipation is building to a precipice. He can feel he is near. He half stumbles, half marches down the road. No cars pass. He feels the nagging fizzle away, an itch being scratched after bothering him for months. Hundreds of miles to end up here. He looked placidly on his destination. A decrepit mansion, on an empty sidestreet, on the outskirts of London. Something important must have led him here. Something powerful. He slumped his travelling pack off his shoulders, heaving a sigh as it slithers to the ground. He hesitates on the wild lawn, unsure what he should do next. The place seems empty. He searches the window, no lights are on. Except one. With a sharp inhale, Gregori approaches the front door.

He lifts the door knocker, it's held by a grotesque face leering at him. He raps the door twice sharply. He can here the sharp knocks rattle down the hallway inside. Gregori took the few moments while waiting for an answer to recollect himself, to reflect, and to prepare for whatever awaited him on the other side. After a few deep breaths, his body is relaxed. His mind is ready, despite his tiredness. A smile creeps into the corners of his mouth.

The heavy door opens. Every second felt like it dragged on. This was one of the powers of anticipation. His patience lasted until morning light broke through into the hallway, illuminating the face of the woman who had opened the door with a knowing look on her face. Something about her made him feel more settled than he had been for a long time. "Hello. I'm Gregori. You've been expecting me?

---

Earlier, before the train, before the long walk toward Corinthia Manor, Soren had stopped where he always did. The cemetery was quiet at that hour. He preferred it that way. Less curious eyes. Less chance of someone interrupting what still felt like a conversation, even if he was the only one speaking. He knelt beside the modest headstone, brushing a few fallen leaves away. Caelia Virelle. The sight still hurt every time.

“Hi, Mum.” He said softly. “I’m going today. They’re… different, apparently. They don’t want us hiding. They think magic should be nurtured.” He let out a small breath that fogged in front of him. “You would’ve liked that, I think. You always said magic isn’t something we cage. It’s something we care for.”

There was silence as Soren collected his thoughts. “I don’t know if I belong there yet.” he admitted. “But I want to try. I think… I think I need to. I just wish you could see this part. I wish you could tell me if I’m making the right choice.”

After a moment, he set a small wrapped parcel beside the headstone. Sweet biscuits she used to love, then stood, brushing dirt from his knees. “I’ll take everything you taught me. I promise. I’ll tell you how it goes.” Then, he turned away, and headed for the manor. For the first time in months, he felt like he wasn’t leaving her behind.

—-

Soren lingered outside the iron gate, staring up at the manor longer than he meant to. It was beautiful in a quiet understated way. Old stone, tall windows, the kind of place you read about in fantasy novels. It looked a little lonely too. Not exactly what he’d imagined when he heard whispers about a revolutionary Coven. Somehow, that made it better. Less intimidating, more real.

His grip tightened on his satchel strap. Six months without his mother still didn’t feel real. The Elders had told him to suppress his magic after she died. For his protection, they said. He’d tried. It felt wrong, like he was suffocating.

He took a breath to calm himself, and pushed the gate open. “I’m really hoping this isn’t a terrible idea…” He murmured to himself. “I came all this way… I even brought snacks!” The joke landed flat, but at least it kept his nerves from spiraling completely.

He stepped inside, and looked around, nervous. “Hi… um… I’m Soren… I hope I’m not too early… Or too late…”

---

“Fuck!”

Habit. Trish didn’t mean to, but everything irritating had dialed up tenfold; another singed button to discard from her sad collection. Ironically the Bad Religion logo button, too. She snorted at that if nothing else, flicking the warped plastic off her desk where it clattered to the floor like it had offended her personally.

Which it probably had.

Fifth one this week. Same witchy problem she knew enough about for it to matter, and too little for a solution.

… She hated that especially.

Her fingers still tingled, heat along her skin like faint static that refused to discharge. Like a foot going numb. She flexed them once, twice. Scowled like Mr. Richards once did when she planted that stink bomb in his garden at age ten. The air around her desk felt warmer than the rest of the room.

That irony wasn’t lost on Trish either. Volatile witch. Sure. Very funny.

“Don’t,” she told her hands under her breath, balling them into fists, the containment metaphorical. “We’re not doing this again.”

”Doing what?” came a voice from behind Trish. Her brother, Finn, appeared behind her. He’d just finished with his shower and was dressed and seemingly ready to go. ”Are we supposed to be heading out soon?” He asked in his usual flat tone. Being late irritated him but he’d never let it show.

Trish’s features softened at her twin brother’s voice, though from their wildly different looks you’d never guess they were that. Twins. “Melting buttons,” She spat. “Ramones’ one yesterday, Anti-flag the day before.”

The punk gal laughed, eyes rolled back with indignant acceptance of the facts. “Fucking fire, right?” She shrugged, then her attention shot toward her own packed duffel, guitar and the little travel cage where Fig had finally nestled. The little ferret’s snout twitched, as though she unconsciously felt her owner’s gaze.

Finn walked over to sit nearby Trish, his expression muted as he watched her. ”My shit’s out in the hallway, ready to go whenever you are.”

“Yeah, ready.” There it was. That minute human flash, a twitch on her lips that she always denied as smiling. “Better go before I burn the house down.” she said like it was a scheduling conflict. Trish pushed her lanky frame off the leather chair. It wasn’t graceful, but lazy and tired, reluctant.

”I wouldn’t exactly be mad if you did.” Finn replied, shrugging his shoulders at her. He let out a soft sigh and got back up from his seat. He pushed himself up, stretching as if he’d been sitting there for hours.

Without another word, Finn walked over to grab Trish’s bag and then walked out to grab his own out in the hallway. He lived a simple life and didn’t like holding onto things if he didn’t need them. ”You can handle the guitar and Fig, yeah?” He called back.

Trish grinned like a cat when Finn made that instinctive b-line for his sister’s bags. “Bold, that.” Her tone was dangerous yet playful. “For all you know that thing’s loaded with spray cans and molotovs.” Or plushies and spare clothes, rather. Which would get a far worse reaction if he ever mentioned them. She trusted her brother with it regardless.

The hard guitar case was a familiar weight on her back. Worn straps bit into her bare shoulders. Fig stirred briefly when her travel cage swayed, beady eyes catching those puffy misty rose curls and yipped quietly.

“Let’s go girl.”

That, too, felt like a weight on her shoulders. Finally out of a shithole, and onto another.

… At least this one pretended quieter.

---

Trains were noisy, people in them a nuisance. The only thing keeping Trish from kicking at the whiney kid’s chair and calling his phone-addicted mother a vulgar noun was Finn’s presence.

Plus the lingering threat that something might spark, and not the comforting kind. So instead of a shriek, it was an inward sigh. And rather than a biting remark? Trish counted to ten, tapped one combat boot in rhythm, and clawed at her torn leggings.

“Tell me the next stop is ours,” she leaned toward her brother, the poster child of outward zen. “Or I’m committing an Orient Express murder.” A subtle flame licked around a lifted finger, not visible enough to matter. Contained for now.

Finn hated this as much as his sister. He too wanted nothing more than to punt that whiny-ass kid off the train so he could finally get some much needed rest before they arrived. He kept his expression even-keeled however, giving the mother glances which she didn’t notice. Hard to notice anything happening beyond the realm of her cell phone it seemed.

”Yeah, it is.” Finn replied cooly after glancing up at the ticker that read off the next stops. He gave Trish a raised brow and the faintest of smirks. ”Because that would end well.”

When the train stopped, Finn pushed himself from his seat and reached back for both his bag and Trish’s again. Once they were both secured, he started his way towards the exit. The kid, as obnoxious as ever, tried to kick his foot out to trip other passengers. Finn resisted the urge to stomp down on his foot and break his ankle. Instead, he hopped over, silent as always.

Trish did much the same, though couldn’t resist nudging the kid’s arm enough to slosh his shitty off-brand coke. Droplets spilling. A petty satisfaction as she and Finn alighted the train, Trish with a stretch that popped her joints.

She felt Fig’s enclosure sway as the ferret stirred and shifted, her little nose peeking out the breathing holes to sniff at the new environment. Trish nudged her snout playfully, the corner of her lips allowing a smile before she crushed it.

“Someone’s eager.” Trish looked at Finn as they left the station, thoughts swerving when their destination closed. The Corinthia coven. “You think Fig gets her own bunk?” Something to lighten the mood, or… tension, she figured.

”No, but I’m sure if I got some wood, we could build one.” He offered with another small shrug. He didn’t want to admit how nervous he was as they got closer.

The mansion came into view now.

Finn swallowed his feelings down as he always did and tugged the straps of their bags further onto his shoulder. ”No time like the present. I will, as is customary, let you do most of the talking.” Finn’s tone left no real room for argument, which he was sure his sister was used to by now.

Trish’s nose scrunched at that. “Grand.” sarcasm dripped evenly. Always her honour, wasn’t it? The twins approached the old abode thick with history they knew very little about. “Smells like grandad’s nursing home corridor.” Trish offered, then nodded at the other arrivals like she pretended to give a shit.

“McKinley, two spare rooms.” She joked while lifting Fig’s rustling cage. The ferret squeaked in greeting, beady eyes glinting in the dim light. “One pet.” She shrugged, adjusting the strap of her guitar case.

Being dead was... not what Hazel had expected. She heard at church that she'd spend eternity either sunbathing on clouds or shoveling coals- and her parents had thought it would more likely be the latter. Instead, it was just like being alive, with a few frustrating differences. First and foremost was the isolation. Nobody could see or hear her- she knew that such loneliness would eventually drive her mad sooner or later.

The second, and stranger, phenomenon was the force drawing her to this place. It was like being on a raft, she supposed. The current would take you where it wanted, and there was no point fighting it. But she could feel that it was a good thing- like a warm bath and a well-cooked meal. This was going to be her new home.

Hazel made her way up to the door. This is where it's coming from. Alright, here goes nothing. She hadn't tried to walk through walls or anything else really ghostly, but this was as good a time as any. She stepped forward... and tumbled head over ass as her insubstantial form phased through the closed door. It would have been mortifying, had anyone been looking. She picked herself up, tried to dust herself off- habits of the living were apparently rather hard to break- and her spectral voice echoed through the halls of Corinthia for the first time.

"Hello? Is... is anyone listening? Can you hear me? I'm... scared..."

The train of Juniper’s vintage black dress splayed behind her, gathering at her bare feet as she descended the pronounced staircase of her home. She suddenly felt hyperaware of her surroundings, realising as those dark green orbs drifted over the hallway, that soon fresh eyes would be taking in these original fixtures and fittings. Granted, her predecessors had modernised the manor, restoring the run-down beams and worn floorboards. Her mother, with her unwavering obsession with order, had redecorated en masse with style. No room had been safe from Sorrell’s painfully tasteful touches. Lashings of paint, thoughtfully placed one-off furnishings and a scattering of many houseplants had transformed this gothic manor into a home that greeted with arms wide open. It was the kind of interior design that forced your jaw to drop, so juxtaposed to the manor’s dark and looming exterior. Of course, the home belonging to a long line of Earth Witches would be full of various plants ranging from tropical to domestic, housed in an array of handmade pots. Everywhere you looked, lush foliage stared back. The pops of green with textured leaves against the dark walls was refined in a way that only Sorrell would be able to execute.

“Gothic doesn’t have to mean cold, Junie” her mother had said, paint roller in hand dripping green paint splatters at her naked feet. She’d thrown herself into this home, letting the ongoing project absorb her completely at times. After all, the Hawthornes spent so much time at home hiding from the human world that the least they could do was be amongst beauty whilst locked away, right?

Now, years later, June stood in the hallway beneath the chandelier ready to welcome the new Covenhood into her mother’s passion project. This time, she would be the one at the front door, brandishing the manor proudly. Ironic that Sorrell was not here herself to apologise for the (non-existent) mess and laugh melodically whilst graciously accepting compliments on her choice of artwork. It was down to Juniper to fill that role now… Aislinn cawed softly at June’s ear, shifting her claws that were fastened on her right-hand shoulder.

“Corinthia is your home now, Juniper” Aislinn corrected with a tone that felt firm and encouraging. The raven often interjected when she felt her Master’s inner monologue drift off the beaten track. She was ever the voice of reason. Her words were chosen carefully, knowing the secret recipe to put June at ease.

Bare feet padding across the floorboards, Juniper gripped the grand brass knob and hesitated for a beat. Her skin prickled. The hairs on her arms stood rigidly, crackling with the presence of fellow Witches. Her body knew, regardless of the knock that had reverberated through the hallway just moments ago, that she was in the presence of great power. On the other side of Corinthia’s door gathered quite the amalgamation of Magic, June could sense it. It had been so long since she’d been in the company of the Charmed. This visceral response to her fellow Witches had been dormant whilst inhabiting Corinthia on her own. She revelled in the sensation, flexing her grip on the doorknob before clicking the lock open. The grand front door swung open, revealing the faces of 6 strangers scattered across the Corinthia steps.

Juniper and Aislinn looked back at them all, a genuine bright smile flashing across her face. Her raven cawed loudly, beak snapping in greeting. The birds tail twitched excitedly and June made brief eye contact with each and every one of the new arrivals. Luggage gripped in hands, rucksacks on their backs, pairs of eyes staring back at her expectantly, she nodded in greeting.

"Hello. I'm Gregori. You've been expecting me?” the caramel-complexioned, dark haired man at the front of the group spoke first. Thick, doe-like lashes framed his auburn eyes that fixed her with a curious gaze.

His voice was soft, calm. June inclined her head in a subtle bow.

“Indeed,” she affirmed, Aislinn’s head flicking side to side as her pinprick black eyes flitted from one Witch to another. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Gregori. A pleasure to meet all of you, in fact.”

Another voice chimed in from just behind Gregori, her dark eyes holding a steady gaze. She had a quiet confidence about her that made June smile.

“I take it I’ve come to the right address? I’m Robin Lee, though I prefer to go by ‘Wren.’”

Aislinn chirped in approval, one beady eye glinting at Wren.

“Ha! A Raven and a Wren… I like her. Her energy is… Anchoring. She harbours great power, I can sense it. Connected…” Aislinn’s voice spoke in Juniper’s mind crisp and clear, that Familiar/Master soul tie connecting the two of them mentally.

Some morning joggers chattered, their voices breathy, as they ran past the Corinthia manor. Consumed with conversation, the pedestrians didn’t so much as glance in the direction of the large group forming. There was nothing necessarily unusual about the scene unfolding, save for the Raven and pet ferret whose nose sniffed curiously from between its cage grates, but the traditionalist witch narrative begged for them to hurry indoors. June mentally brushed this self awareness aside, dismissing the second-hand anxiety that told her to usher everyone in before they attracted attention. The familiar scent of Nag Champa burning in the hallway drifted out the open door, filling the entryway. The Witch looked over Gregori’s shoulder at the others that waited patiently behind him. With an elegant flourish of her hand, Juniper gestured for her new Covenhood to make their way inside. She stepped aside, allowing enough room for their entrance, luggage in tow.

A thick, unashamed Irish jilt rung out from the small crowd. The accent had innate charm, commanding the airwaves effortlessly with its unique tones.

”Oi oi, how much a place like this cost?” Noah whistled to herself as the door opened wider. Her head angled to look past Gregori’s shoulders at the grand hallway that was hidden the other side of the threshold. ”Feckin’ half expected cobwebs an’ cockroaches on the walls. Proper cabin in the middle o’feckin’ nowhere, like… Movin’ on up in the world! Dibs on the basement. Perfect place for night terrors - Just fuckin’ wi’ya. So. When do we start burnin’ shit down?”

She had spirit. “Spunky” is how Grandma Hawthorne would’ve described her. Juniper responded with a graciously warm smile, dimples pinching her cheeks.

“Manor’s been in the Hawthorne family for generations… Mortgage was paid off years ago. Place is worth a fortune now but… It can’t ever leave Hawthorne hands,” June addressed the Irish Witch, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Basement’s got a weird energy,” she continued, remembering the shift in atmosphere and cool air that kissed her cheeks every time she ventured down the creaky basement stairwell. “I’m pretty certain Hawthorne Witches past still linger there… But I’ll leave it to you to ask them to leave. Don’t burn anything just yet, okay? At least get unpacked first.” She smirked warmly, tilting her head affectionately at the Witch.

Shoes shuffled as the Witches made their way inside Corinthia, coats rustling as they moved past the front door. Aislinn chirped approvingly as the pair of them watched their new housemates trickle into the hallway. Flashes of brightly coloured hair, ripped jeans and a buzz of Magic followed in the groups wake. The Corinthia Manor seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as warm bodies filled its interior. The house had been lonely and the new arrivals were a welcome splash of colour to the blank canvas.

“I’m really hoping this isn’t a terrible idea…” the youngest of the Witches spoke quietly, almost to himself. His head was dipped, shoulders rolled inward, purple locks falling in front of his lowered eyes. He took a few hesitant steps into Corinthia and June could taste his apprehension on her tongue. “Hi… um… I’m Soren… I hope I’m not too early… Or too late…”

The young man’s voice was laced with nerves, each word creeping from his lips like it wasn’t quite sure of where to tread. Juniper automatically rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder, her palm aglow with warmth. Her eyes softened, soothing him with an encouraging nod.

“You’re right on time, Soren…” Juniper said, her voice soft and euphonious. “…And the bravery of a new adventure is never a bad idea.”

She spoke with a certainty that was matter of fact. Aislinn emphasised her Master’s encouragement with a peppy caw of approval. Then, her eyes flicked to the next arrivals, a pair. The two of them walked together with a practiced synergy, falling into step with one another effortlessly. The woman was observing the Manor with a bright, curious stare. Shoulders broad, chin slightly raised, she had a commanding presence that lead her more introverted counterpart in a somewhat unspoken way. Together? Their Magika was palpable. June smoothed her expression as she felt her skin hum like the conductor of a powerful current. Being in their presence was like stepping into static. Not wishing to make the pair of them feel self conscious, she shared a bright smile with them both.

“McKinley, two spare rooms.” It was the girl who spoke first, of course. She lifted the cage gripped in her right hand and a ferret squeaked in greeting.

Aislinn’s feathers instantly ruffled and she gave her wings a quick flap. Juniper felt her raven spiritually horripilate as she tried to assess whether this creature were a fellow Familiar or not. June summoned her Charm, calling to it like an obedient hound. Instantly, her Magika pulsed in response and she subtly flicked a finger in the ferret’s direction. She suddenly sensed the caged animals determination to be released from the carrier, she heard the excitable squeaks of an animal keen to explore… But no inner voice shared with a Master. The endearing ferret was just that. A pet.

Now that all the Witches had filed inside, Juniper closed the front door with a satisfying click. She spun on her bare heels, sidestepping past the group as they fleshed out the entryway. Nag Champa smokiness plumed from the burning incense sticks dotted around the house and the enchanted Kitchen whistled in readiness. Juniper had called upon a simple animation spell for a large pot of coffee and fresh tea with loose leaves to be ready for the Covenhood’s arrival. The old fashioned copper kettle had filled itself with water and sat atop the flickering stove. The coffee pot had burst to life, brewing the granules and releasing a rich, vanilla accented aroma. The high-pitched whistle that cracked through the air was a call to arms for June. She breezed past them, shoulders brushing and dress billowing, entering the kitchen with a sense of purpose about her.

The infectious smell of freshly brewed coffee, English Breakfast tea leaves and freshly baked buttery croissants filled the open-plan room. It was perfect for hosting; A large island in the centre with a few wooden bar stools nested beneath the countertop. Then, a dining table permanently laid for guests and always hosting a large vase of fresh flowers. This bunch was picked by Juniper the day before; An impressive arrangement of roses, gypsophelia and eucalyptus. Fresh flowers brought a unique natural elegance to a room and Juniper simply adored curating arrangements from the well-groomed Corinthia gardens. As the Witch buzzed around the marble-topped island, revelling in the pleasure of hosting, she laid out an assortment of hand-pottered mugs for her guests. Stacking some antique side plates, she peered around the doorway at the new arrivals.

“Aislinn will show you to the vacant rooms available!” she called breezily, voice tinkering with excitement. “You’re welcome to pick whichever rooms you like, of course. I’ll let you set your things down and then if you’d like to join me here in the kitchen, there’s tea, coffee and fresh pastries ready for you.”

Aislinn’s wings fluttered as she broke into flight. Feathers rustling enthusiastically, the raven circled overhead. She flew in a couple of quick circles above the group of Witches and cawed twice and glided up the staircase to the first floor, disappearing from Juniper’s view. As she heard the sound of steps thudding up the staircase, a strange spiritual energy vibrated through the air. It was unfamiliar, unknown. Another stranger. Not a Hedge Witch by any stretch, simply an expert in the atmosphere of Corinthia, Juniper could feel a presence in the air of the manor that felt alien. It made the hairs at the nape of her neck raise, a chill skittered down her spine. She froze, hand hovering above the cutlery drawer as if she were being watched. Hesitant, June listened and watched for a sign. This was a spiritual presence that she had not come across before. Someone had entered Corinthia Manor with the 6 Witches who now busied themselves upstairs. Someone who wouldn’t be needing a room of residence.

Shelving the unusual feeling that dissipated as quickly as it appeared, a proud smile spread across her face as June prepped the welcome treats. One large hot oven tray of cooling, crispy croissants. A steaming pot of good coffee and loose tea leaves that crackled as they swam in boiling water… The Corinthia Coven felt more like home in that moment than it had in months on end. Bedrooms full of strangers, foreign clothes hanging in wardrobes, someone else’s trinkets being laid out at dressing tables… This Manor was full of fresh starts and the Earth Witch that had summoned them all positively brimmed with that novel feeling. She couldn’t wait to place warm mugs in the hands of her guests and make their introductions. It felt like the beginning of something. Something even more magical than the Magika that coursed through all of their veins.

As if by magic, Gregori was followed by a group. He hadn't noticed the trickle of people assemble in front of the manor. It's not that surprising. Not only was he tired, but he lived in his head; often forgetting the world around him. As soon as he heard Wren speak, he was filled with a warm feeling of confirmation. Of course other people had been following this thread. This moment almost felt like a memory he had forgotten.

Then he clocked the raven. His smile widened into a goofy grin. There was something special about this raven. All corvids were smart. But this one was also friendly enough that you could see it closely. He locked eyes with the bird. As a nervous voice in his periphery introduced themselves to June, Gregori winked at the raven.

The group filed inside. The warm feeling in his chest continued to grow. It was a new feelings. A big feeling. Some of it was comfort. This place was cosy, comfortable, and smelt like joy. But something else stirred inside of him. He could feel the charts changing and his compass reorienting. Despite his fatigue, his mind still raced. He must examine the night sky!

But more pressing matters needed attending. Like the loud growl that came from his stomach when he smelled of coffee and pastries. He had been hungry for some time. He shifted the weight of his bag, in front of him and held it up by the shoulder straps. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He stayed like this for a few seconds. It was quite strange. Before anyone could say anything, he opened his eyes and exhaled smoothly. His hands now appeared to be covered by perfectly thin sheer blue gloves. And then they slipped off of his hands and floated straight up. They retained the shape of his hands as they lifted the bag quickly above him, narrowly missing the chandelier. His bag drifted smoothly to the top floor, reminiscent of a helium balloon. It hopped over the banister, and the ethereal hands hung his bag on a cornerpost.

They drifted weightlessly down and Gregori stared at his beat-up boots. The hands went to either side of one shoe and undid the lace, loosening his shoe. They slid around the other shoe and fumbled for a moment. He furrowed his brow and stuck the tip of his tongue between his lips. The lace come undone and he knocked his shoes off and the hands set them on the shoe rack. Until now the hands had moved as a pair but now one hand and one shoe went either side of the McKinley twins to get past them and their stuff.

Gregori's big toe stuck out of his sock completely; it has a big hole. The other sock has no heel. When Gregori notices his bare toe he frowns at it and wiggles his toe. He cuts through the group and their belongings, and goes straight into the kitchen.

He heard a click. He felt it? He noticed something unseen occur. But he only had the expertise to be aware he wasn't noticing something. And he was only aware for a second before his mind discarded the notion when he locked eyes with Juniper, who was pouring a coffee. The warmth in his chest returning. Followed by a hollow pang. And a tummy rumble. "I'm not rushing to choose my room. But I am starving. May I?" He garnished his words with a smile, reaching for a plate. She nodded as he continued, "I'm really curious June. How much needs to be said?"

“It seems you have someone - or something - to lend you a hand choosing your room… Pardon the pun.”

“Curiosity is the catalyst for creativity… Perhaps the question is less what needs to be said and more… What would you like to say, Gregori?”
June pours a coffee for Gregori and gently places it into his palm, served with a warming smile.

He welcomes the drink, holding it below his chin. It's hot. It reminds him of the warm feeling in his soul. He looks around contemplatively; smelling the rich black coffee. He responds after momentary rumination: "I'm very fortunate to live in a world surrounded by helping hands. It's the only reason I have made it here, today. It helps that I was born at an auspicious time."
He samples his drink.
"Bitter. Earthy. Complex. Good coffee. Thank you... When will you reveal your offer? Your conditions? I am searching for somewhere to settle. Something told me to come here, even if I didn't know where 'here' is. Was it you?"
Juniper nodded pensively, locking her dark green gaze on his as she listened attentively.

“Helping hands often reach out when being reached for… I’m glad you’re here, Gregori. I sense you’ve been travelling a long while-“

She pours herself a cup, pursing her lips to blow away the plume of steam.

“Conditions? Oh, this isn’t a blood bond coven. Feels a bit Dark all of us offering a slit to the veins for loyalty, doesn’t it? Loyalty is cultivated from respect and dedication, not sacrifice. Both of which I plan to give to you all… And receive the same courtesy,” June shrugged, taking a long sip from her cup. She hummed in agreement. “Good coffee is the only kind. Anything less doesn’t make it past the Corinthia wards, trust me.”

The Earth Witch’s eyes broke away, noticing the bouquet she’d arranged yesterday had gotten a little hot. She clicked her tongue, tutting at her own neglect. The petals were beginning to shrivel a little at the edges. She daintily pressed two fingertips against her lips then reached out and touched them to the flowers that had begun to wilt. Instantly, her skin contact revitalised them. The wrinkled petals became as good as fresh, their colours reigniting into a bright vibrant bunch.

“I intend to do something a little like that to Witchhood, Gregori” June explained, “The Charmed have been ushered away from the light for too long. Centuries we’ve been punished for our power… And look where that’s got us? We’ve turned our back on Mother Earth. We’ve turned our back on our very own culture!” She spoke with calm conviction, cradling the coffee cup in her hands. “Corinthia is going to be the beginning of Witches who congregate. To thrive. Not just survive. We’ll teach one another. Expand our power. Learn the Ancient Practices as was once intended…” She paused. Took a little breath. “But I’ll explain more when we’re all present, of course.”

Gregori's eyes sparkled as he watched June. Her words are uplifting, they reinforce his golden mood. "How fortunate. You have a grand vision. I can't wait to see what we can teach eachother. How well do you know the arts of the night sky?" His question ended abruptly and excitedly. He munched on a fresh pastry. His enjoyment was clear on his face.

“I come from a long line of reputable Earth Witches… The Hawthornes aren’t celestial. Far from…”

June gestured at the greenery that surrounded them. The evidence of Earth Witches past.

“But I think there’s a lot we could teach one another, Gregori…”

Gregori looked at the greenery, his gaze shifted between the numerous plants. Studying everything he looked at. His look returned to June. He was about to say something. But cut himself off when someone else walked in. It could wait.

Soren smiled when Juniper put her hand on his shoulder. He swallowed and nodded. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

As others moved past him, Soren looked at them for the first time. Different personalities, different vibes. What struck him the most was the other boys… other men… that were present. Just unapologetically existing in the coven. He hadn’t realized until now how his grandmother’s beliefs had stayed with him. That he was an irregularity. That he didn’t belong. Seeing them here, existing unapologetically as witches, made him think that maybe his grandmother was wrong. He eased a little.

He cleared his throat gently and stepped further inside, adjusting the strap of his satchel. “I don’t have a room preference, whatever’s free is fine. I’m not particular.” He said, glancing toward Juniper before looking back at the others. “If anyone needs help carrying things upstairs, or unpacking safely…” His fingers glowed with white Light Magika for a moment. “…or if you’re feeling lightheaded after travel, I can help with that too.” A small self conscious smile followed. “I promise I’m more useful than I look.”

---

It’s not that Fig hated being caged, just preferred being able to jumpscare people at a moment’s notice. The ferret spun in circles at a similar prospect when Trish’s hands hovered near the cage lid, a melodious yip vibrating outward; stubby paws scratching in search for freedom. Or maybe an excuse to touch her owner’s familiar calloused palm. Trish allowed herself a smirk at that, her pinky finger teasing that sniffing nose as the ferret’s tongue lapped at the digit affectionately.

“She’s a fucking menace, honestly.” Came a begrudging acknowledgement, more habit than actually interested in entertaining someone’s curiosity. Not that she didn’t appreciate someone giving a crap about the little things and gave a curt nod at the Irish woman anyway.

Something about being amicable, probably.

The mention of a basement and voluntarily sleeping there made her smirk more noticeably than she cared to admit, thoughts immediately whirring with obvious questions to that strange decision. “Probably me, but I don’t think mold makes good bedfellows.” A shrug. Nonchalant, but intrigued.

She turned her attention to her brother, snagging the duffel bag with a challenging grin. “Could ask if she’s looking for a roommate.” She teased, her shoulder brushing against his hunched form.

Introduction could wait, however, and Trish was more than eager to call dibs on the least invasive room in the building. Preferably on the far end so nobody accidentally bothered her in passing, she hated that too. Hated a lot of things, thinking about it. Heavy boots thudded on worn wood, stairs groaning when Trish deliberately tested their resistance and quietly praying they would give in with a satisfying snap. They didn’t, but a girl could dream and stomp a little harder next time. She was patient in that, at least.

While others choose their room by sheer magical guidance, weird-ass preferences or chance. Trish’s eye fell on one of the simpler bedrooms, though still flashy and bathing in that grand Gothic design. Tall windows, taller walls. Probably able to house about five people with enough space to swing a dead cat around. She slung her guitar case off her shoulder, propping it in an empty corner to keep it from dipping. The duffel with clothes and unmentionables fell onto the bed with a lazy thud.

Then, with careful hands she set Fig’s cage down and opened the lid. The ferret dooked happily, immediately slithering out and crawled up Trish’s arm to find that warm spot around the punk-gal’s neck, small paws fidgeting with tufts of dyed hair while her owner assessed the room a second time before deciding she’d better be one of those social guests.

The stairs held firm at Trish’s insistent stomping, the gesture made her smirk impishly as she landed safely on the main floor. The smell of tea leaves and pastries guided her toward the kitchen, spotting their host and the old gentleman having a chat that stilled when she approached. “Nice place,” She offered with a huff as she dropped into one of the empty seats, eyeing the extravagant banquet with a wry smile. “Very rustic.” She added, glancing at her furry companion.

Fig’s nose twitched, her body crawling along Trish’s shoulder to stretch and sniff at the pastries below. Beady eyes looking expectantly at the promise of treats.

Mentions: Everyone, I hope.
Interactions: @JFK Gregori

It was both a comfort and an annoyance. How warm and inviting this place seemed. The sounds from the coffee pot and the kitchen, the way everyone spoke. He hadn't been around this many people besides Trish since he'd left school. It was both comforting and made him want to find a nice hole to crawl into so he could be alone with his thoughts again.

Finn's expression barely changed as the... gloves? traveled past him. He made no real motion to move to speak to anyone. He kept his mouth shut as his eyes scanned the room and the people in it. He hadn't been in the building for some of their introductions, so he didn't know everyone's names, not that he really cared to remember anyway. The older man [Gregori] looked... kind, for lack of a better word. There was something about him that read grounded and.. wizened? Yeah, something like that. Though, Finn wasn't entirely sure what that would mean for him. If he walked over and stood next to him, would the man strike up conversation or leave him alone like he wanted?

When he looked over at the girl with the long dark hair [Wren], she was looking back at him with the same level of interest. His brow furrowed momentarily. He didn't quite like the way she seemed to see through him. There was a hint of knowing there that he didn't quite like. He'd probably try to avoid her if he could. He couldn't shift his gaze from her quickly enough.

The next was.. hard to miss with that bright blue hair [Noah]. Somehow the request to reside in the basement made so much sense that it hurt. Finn elected to ignore Trish's comment about him joining them. Though, realistically, Finn was a little upset he hadn't thought of it. The basement would have been perfect. Maybe there was an attic he could hole himself in...

The next one looked.. young and sounded it too [Soren]. He appeared to be very friendly and.. light magic, huh? Seemed interesting. There was a small part of Finn that was jealous of that. That magic sounded a hell of a lot better than his and a lot easier to control.

He didn't let the feeling linger, he'd already moved on to looking Juniper over, even as his sister walked off to find her own room. He followed after her after moment, his eyes lingering on the older woman before he turned. He watched his sister on the stairs, a dull, unimpressed expression on his face. He could tell exactly what she wanted and it was already annoying him.

At the first landing, he peeled away, his eyes glancing over the opened rooms. There was one that looked a bit darker that the others and he gravitated towards it. The walls inside were pitch black and the single lamp did little to illuminate the entire room. The windows let in light, but he was sure he could obtain some kind of blackout curtain, right? He set his small bag down to the side of the bed and turned to head back downstairs, despite wanting nothing more than to close the door and leave everyone else to it.

He filed into the kitchen after his sister, a twitch of annoyance on his brow. He glanced at the others again and decided to test his thoughts on the older man. He walked over closer, leaning again the counter as he stood nearby him enough to invite conversation, but far enough away that he could escape if the man actually decided to try.

It wasn’t an initiation. Not in the way they’d been written for Witches past, anyway. June simply wanted to unite the new arrivals, to tether them together as true Corinthian Witches. It was a simple Ritual - A binding spell she’d been working on whilst she spread word of her plans. She’d gathered calamus root, thyme, skullcap, rosemary and poppy seeds; Ingredients that would cleanse and fortify. With her large pestle and mortar, June ground them down, the smell of fresh herbs filling the air. Then, she added them to the tea leaves that still simmered in the pot. Under the watchful eyes of her fellow Witches, a stilled expression of focus smoothed her features as she flitted about the Kitchen. Along the back wall spanned shelves of numerous mason jars, some large and some small, arranged like Russian dolls along the length of each shelf. Waving an index finger through the air like a wand, June searched for her black sand. With a quick hum of approval, she pulled down the jar and breezed into the conservatory where she’d decided the rite should take place. The light was beautiful at this time of day, sun beaming through the skylights, flooding the foliage-filled space with golden hues. Grabbing fistfuls of the jet black sand, June let it flow through the gap in her clenched fist, tracing a large circle. The sand, contrasting so starkly with the terracotta tiles, almost shimmered in the conservatory sunlight. As she connected the head and tail of the circle, June uttered the beginnings of her katadesmos. The ancient dialect was one she wasn’t wholly familiar with but had scoured many of Corinthia’s tomes for. She spoke carefully, articulating each syllable with a practiced enunciation. When finished, June clasped her fingers together, willing the spell to hold.

The Hawthorne Witch reentered the Kitchen, smiling at each of the new eyes that looked back at her. Aislinn had taken position on her perch by one of the Kitchen windows, her tiny coal eyes peering out at the ferret who twitched its nose curiously, clicking her beak.

“Rustic, huh?” June smiled. “My mother would spontaneously combust if she heard you say that. But thank you… I think.”

She lifted the tea pot, pouring just a splash of her artisan herbal remedy into several cups.

“I know this is all going to feel a little… Strange?” June began, speaking to everyone and no one in particular. Her tone was gentle. Compassionate. ”But I thought a Rite would be a good way to… Introduce us all? I’ve put together a simple binding spell. Just a little something to help bring us all together. Most Covens wait at least a year before Initiation but, well… We’re all here now. And it’ll give us the opportunity to get to know eachother a little better?”

June took a breath, setting the empty teapot back down with a small sigh. She splayed both palms on the countertop, biting down on her lower lip before lifting her gaze to the others.

”I’ve not done this before. Leadership. If that wasn’t obvious enough already…” huffing a breathy laugh, the Witch cradled a cup of her tea in her palms and inhaled the herbaceous steam that swirled upward. “I’ve always just followed the Hawthorne way and fallen into line as the Elders intended… But we’re not supposed to be shunned. Our Magic isn’t something for us to be afraid of. Corinthia Witches are going to learn how to embrace all that we are. And we’re going to thrive here. Out of the shadows. Where we belong.”

A silence fell. A breath hitched in her throat. She desperately tried to cast aside the twinge of embarrassment that coupled itself to her vulnerability. Leadership wasn’t as easy as her Mother made it look nor did it come entirely naturally to her… She hoped, in the very pit of her stomach, that her speech had come off more natural and inspiring than it felt on its way out. Perhaps, with practice and validation, she’d settle into this new role. Until then, she’d method act as a Witch with all the confidence of a competent leader. With that in mind, she gestured to the conservatory with a grand sweep of her arm. Taking a tone of enthusiasm and encouragement, June guided the group through to where their Binding Rite would take place.

“Let’s head on through to the Conservatory! Grab a cup of tea, take a seat on the inner side of the circle and be careful not to break it. We’ll start with our names and our Magic… I think that’ll be a good place to begin.”

Soren took one of the cups carefully, holding it in both hands for a second before taking a sip. The smell helped. He recognized some of the herbs, which honestly made him feel a little less nervous about the whole thing.

When Juniper admitted she hadn’t done this before, his expression softened. “That’s okay,” he said quietly. “I mean… I think this is nice.” He glanced down at his tea, then back up again. “Better than being thrown into a room and told to prove yourself, anyway.”

The words came out before he could second guess them. He blushed, looking away for a second before following the others through to the conservatory, careful not to step on the circle.

Once everyone started introducing themselves, Soren hesitated before speaking. “I’m Soren Virelle,” he said, a little softer than he meant to. “White Witch. Healing magic is my specialty.” A faint white glow flickered around his fingers against the cup, then faded when he noticed it. “And, um… I’m still learning, but I want to help.”

---

The new environment turned from unsettling to… Not rather alarmingly fast, and Trish decided she’d compensate for that at a later time. Her left foot decided that time was now and anxiously tapped a rhythm anyway, she pretended it was a choice she meant to make. Arms crossed with the feigned confidence of someone who had pretended for a while. “I get that a lot.” The punk gal didn’t even bother covering it as anything but a jab at herself. “The combustion.” Her lips did something she hadn’t consented to, probably June’s zen-like state. Probably a reflex smile.

Fig meanwhile had sniffed the air and straightened, tufts of Trish’s hair parted where the ferret’s face peaked through to eye the raven curiously. Equally curious, and matching the click of the bird’s beak with a small yip as if to communicate. Trish shifted to accommodate her companion’s weight on her shoulder when she felt small paws digging for balance. Her hand shot out awkwardly when she reached for one of the cups, careful not to disturb the ferret’s posture. She lifted it in a mock salute, then tasted.

Not terrible, not extraordinarily inclined for a second serving either. Trish was picky about anything that wasn’t plain Early Grey tea or coffee in the largest possible mug. “Thanks.” She plucked at a pastry near her elbow, Fig’s attention instantly turned and tiny paws crawled and tucked to climb down and perch at Trish’s wrist while her tiny mouth nipped at a small chunk that now sat in the woman’s palm. Trish smiled at the ferret’s composed eagerness before guiding her back to her neck where the creature curled eagerly while cradling the treat as if it was a valuable offering. She followed the others toward the conservatory, a room that matched with everything else in the mansion. Old, extravagant and most definitely daring building inspectors try to say anything about the potential hazards.

… Note to self, don’t set fire to this place.

Trish approached the sand-lined circle with a wry smirk and an intrusive thought she had to fight. The smirk landed at her brother for a moment, then a shrug as she stepped over and into the marked spot like she was expecting things to go haywire. They didn’t, but not for any control on her part. The first to introduce himself was the shy boy she’d clocked earlier like a sore thumb, soft tone and all. She nodded more out of habit than actually registering the name. Not unkind, just assuming she’d be reminded of the names when it mattered.

She supposed she may as well introduce herself at that, then.

“Trish.” For it was only ever Trish, and definitely not inviting any other interpretation. “I set fire to things.” A flame licked briefly at the edge of her thumb as if it heard the admission like a command. She smirked wider at that with plain amusement.

Gregori sat serenely, savouring his breakfast, and casually examining the younger witches that trickled into the kitchen. Gregori made a particular effort to remember people's names, and found it confounding that three of the people that had arrived with him hadn't really introduced themselves. He was at least glad that most of them had proved they possessed tongues. The stern looking man that sidled up to the counter next to him though? Gregori hadn't heard him speak yet. He definitely had a reason to hold his tongue; Gregori guessed that he would rather stay tongue tied. But his curiosity overpowered his decency and he decided to interrupt his brooding. They were still waiting on a few souls to settle themselves and rendezvous anyway. There was no harm in getting to know these people, now that Gregori had some reassurance he wasn't resigned to a life on the move.

"Am I expected to just call you both 'McKinley'?"

Finn turned his head slowly as the older man did exactly what he'd feared. He spoke to him. His green eyes glanced over at him, clearly a little perturbed by being spoken to. He glanced from him to the others in the room and then back, as if they could save him. As if Trish even would. Clearly he wanted to know Finn's name and that was a small part of him that wanted to ignore him, let him continue calling him whatever he wanted to. It wasn't like Finn wanted to respond to him anyway, right?

But there was another part of Finn that knew, deep down, this guy likely wouldn't get the memo and would just keep badgering him. Annoying...

"Finnigan." His monotone voice cut through the air like a dull knife. He offered nothing more, nothing less. He lifted his arms to cross over his chest, eyes locked on the man's now. At least seeing if his predictions were right was amusing.

One corner of Gregori's mouth crept up into the flash of a smirk before he quelled the expression from his face by transitioning the smirk into a full-fledged grin. Gregori's smile was infectious. Anyone else on this earth might've returned it. He clocked the annoyance in Finn's eyes. Gregori figured some exposure therapy might do him some good. "Well, Finn Again, it's nice to meet you. Have you had breakfast yet? It's the most important meal of the day!" Gregori riposted Finn's crossed arms by untucking his seat and turning to face Finn completely, his posture was open and welcoming.

Finn's arms remained crossed and his expression never really moved from mild annoyance. Irritating asshole. On some level, Finn was jealous of this man's ability to just... express emotions like that. Freely. Without restraint. Without worry. He was looking at something he felt he could never have and it pissed him off.

He ignored the jab at his name and closed his eyes, taking in a deep, stabilizing breath. He couldn't let himself get pissed off. He didn't need to explode on the first day. He let the feeling travel deep into his gut and die. When he opened his eyes again, the annoyance was gone and he returned Gregori's look with an annoyingly dead stare.

"No. I haven't." He replied curtly. Any emotions that had been bubbling up a moment ago had been quashed as easily as they came.

It didn't take a mind-reader to notice what Finn's body language was indicating. G took the obvious hint and eased off his social assault. It seemed his cheeky demeanour wasn't a good fit for this young man. When Finn's eyes opened, G was still looking at him. But his quirky grin hug softened into a new look. Finn might've noticed his slightly furrowed eyebrows knitting themselves together. Gregori felt a mix of concern and intrigue.

Gregori pulled the chair next to him out; then smoothly tucked his chair in and peeped over his shoulder with a response, "Please join me. You're among friends. And our lovely host summoned a delicious meal."

Gregori's interest was piqued by the sudden spike of activity. He garnished the conversation with a wink at Finn that he likely wouldn't appreciate, but alas. Then he untucked himself and abandoned his empty plate and mug as he made a point of tucking his chair in after himself. He peered into the conservatory and took a seat beside the others. He looked appreciatively at the carefully arranged circle. He listened to the introductions with a big grin on his face. His smile settled on Soren as he introduced himself:

color=00aeef]"I'm Gregori. Or simply Gee. Not Greg... Please. I'm a forever a student. Ready to try my hand at teaching." He cut himself off before he could fall into a monologue. The room took a breath, but before another introduction could be uttered the confused Wren broke in. Narrowly missing the black sand circle. His eyes widened slightly before calming again as she stopped just short of it. He listened to her and looked inquisitively down the hall.

He idly played with a cord around his neck before pulling it out from under his shirt: at the end of the cord was a strange stone. A perfect little ring shape. The initiated might recognise it as an unusually large Adder stone. It was smooth and grey and about perfectly donut shaped. About the size of Gregori's eye.

Mentions: Soren, Trish, Gregori, Juniper, Wren
Interactions: none

Finn turned from Gregori as their host began to speak. The dull expression on his face remained as he considered both Gregori's words and Juniper's. He didn't want to be among friends. He didn't want to care, didn't want to have those feelings. Feelings were bad, feelings led to bad things. His brows furrowed for a moment before he took a short breath. He was okay. He would be okay. No explosions. Calm.

After a short moment, he took long strides towards the circle, grabbing a cup of tea unceremoniously, and glanced around the room as he did. He listened as Soren introduced himself. The only thought going through Finn's head was, 'mouse,' which the boy reminded him of. He had a thought that perhaps he wouldn't be so bad to hang out with. Perhaps. He clocked Trish's smirk and rolled his eyes. He knew exactly what was going through her head and was more than glad when she didn't act on it.

Finn seated himself a moment later and was about to open his mouth to get introductions out of the way when he heard the voice of someone else entering, addressing Juniper. Maybe he wouldn't have to introduce himself after all? That would be cool. Finn kept his expression even as he watched, but there was mild curiosity on his features despite himself.